Masuk“Well, we’ve got motive, means, and a timeline. That’s more than enough for the District Attorney to grant a warrant.”I say it flatly as I twist the key in the ignition of the patrol car, the engine roaring to life beneath my hands.“I’ll call to have it delivered to us,” Colin says, already pulling out his phone. “We need to get to Blaire’s last known address before she catches wind. If her mother tips her off, we lose the element of surprise.”I merge onto the road as he dials the D.A.’s number. I listen with half an ear while navigating traffic, the other half focused on the route burned into my memory. Colin’s tone is clipped—purely procedural—as he requests the warrant and provides the delivery location. The conversation is brief, professional, and to the point.He ends the call and exhales.“Our sergeant already requested it on your behalf this morning. He told the D.A. to hold it until either of us—or him—checked in. We’re good to go.”“That’s all I needed to hear,” I reply, p
“Now that we’ve finished breakfast and nearly killed one of my best employees via juice asphyxiation,” I say dryly, “how about we start the photography portion of the day?” I clear the plates from in front of Jessie and Ivy.“That sounds perfect,” Ivy says, already halfway out of her chair. “I just need to know the setting so I can pull the proper lenses.” She reaches for her camera case, fingers itching with anticipation.“Jessie?” I prompt, offering her an encouraging smile.“Well,” she begins thoughtfully, “I think the best way to divert—and completely shut down—our overly hungry clients is with an image that makes an undeniable statement. Something bold.” She glances at Ivy, then back at me. “They’ll be shot in the bedroom. Boudoir-style, but with a couple instead of just a woman.”Ivy freezes mid-motion, her mouth falling open.“I did not know you had this in you,” she says, stunned. “I’m officially impressed.” She nudges Jessie’s shoulder teasingly before diving into her camera
“Onto the last security surveillance for the Foster divorce proceedings and I’m done,” I chime to myself—right up until my phone rings.I reach across my desk to grab it and freeze when I see the caller ID. Lincoln. It’s been a few days since I last heard from him, which immediately puts me on edge. Hopefully everything with Jessie is okay.I answer and breeze through the formalities.“Good morning, boss. Is everything okay? How’s Jessie? I was just finishing the last case from the pile Diana left me.”“Hello to you too, Ivy.” Oh—good. His tone is light, almost amused. That has to mean everything’s fine. “Everything’s good. I wanted to see if you—and your photography skills—were available for that photo I needed for my office.”“Oh, the girlfriend picture!” I laugh softly. “I completely forgot about that. I can be there in about an hour. I just need to review this last fifteen-minute sequence to finalize the evidence portion, send my report back to Diana, and then I’ll head over.”“As
I must’ve been out for hours because I’m awakened by a tiny sliver of light peaking through the black-out curtains, setting directly across my eyes as I bat my lashes tiredly. It takes me a few minutes to recollect myself to consciousness when I realize I’m tangled in black silk sheets and I can feel my naked body pressed against the warm chest of someone behind me.I turn my head so quickly that I probably induced whiplash upon all else and find Lincoln is completely asleep, the sheets thrown lazily over his hips as he laid on his side - almost resembling a Greek sculpture or a painting in the Sistine chapel and I breathe a sigh of relief. Every nightmare had me lost in fear and confusing trauma with reality at daybreak. Then I realize an utter soreness that runs through my entire body and find recollection of everything I’d had - no, we had done last night and my cheeks instantly start to flame red.We had taken that enormous leap from platonic to straight sexual relations and prof
Mrs. Crenshaw’s home isn’t far from the farmhouse estate where Jessie grew up. The proximity alone makes my stomach twist. It raises a question I can’t shake—how had Blaire never crossed paths with Jessie before college? In a town this small, it seems almost impossible.Unless it wasn’t an accident.Unless Mrs. Crenshaw had taken deliberate precautions to make sure her daughter never laid eyes on the life she’d been denied.We pull up in front of a tiny house—weathered siding, a narrow porch, and a single window glowing dimly from inside.“This has to be a one-bedroom,” Mike mutters as he steps out of the car. “Maybe even a studio.”I nod, my gaze lingering on the house. The contrast is impossible to ignore. Blaire grew up here—tight quarters, limited means—while Jessie was raised in comfort, surrounded by love and generational wealth. The resentment suddenly feels inevitable. Not jealousy of Jessie herself, but of the life she represented. A life Blaire believed should have been hers
Normally, I’d dread having to pick up Miller for an early morning run, but this time was different. This wasn’t a routine check-in or another dead-end lead—we had a meeting with Mrs. Crenshaw. Blaire’s mother.A pivotal point in the investigation.Maybe even the end of it.The thought alone had been enough to keep sleep light and restless. I’d been desperate for closure since the case began—desperate enough to blur the line between anticipation and dread.I’d taken the patrol car home the night before to avoid waking up any earlier than necessary. After breakfast and a morning beer—something I told myself was for the nerves, not the habit—I beelined straight for Colin’s place.For someone so closed-off, he was surprisingly familiar with his neighborhood. Every house I passed earned a wave, a nod, even a smile. It was the kind of street where people watched through lace curtains and remembered birthdays. An elderly woman next door caught my attention as I stepped onto his walkway.“Are







